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03/10/2011

At Willie Morris' home

Around the corner on the side street next to the house, we found a half-dozen elderly pecan trees dating back a hundred years. The houses along that street matched the trees themselves, as both were unkempt-looking, with broken branches and missing roof tiles, excoriated bark and moss-covered siding, and zillions of thumb-shaped pecans and small playthings scattered in the yards. We filled our baggies in no time, and were paid no never mind by the cars that drove by.

Back at the Morris house, I was hoping to find the elm tree that Willie and his ten-year-old friends had sat up in for hours in a prank gone awry as described in Good Ole Boy, but there was no elm tree back there. I did, however, find an old locust tree on its last legs. Among the rusty cans, bottles, and used condoms in that alleyway, I was delighted to discover a handful of seedpods that the squirrels had overlooked. It was a bonus round, and with the sun beginning to set, I felt lucky.

So, can we figure out what matters? The society we Americans are forced to live in is falling apart, and that trend is bound to get worse. My answer in the past has been to turn inward. Shrink the world and concentrate on family, friends and community. Read books. Play music. I know that's a piss-poor answer because we've all got to make a living one way or another. We'd all like to think there are sacred, inviolable human rights.

As I've mentioned before, we have a cozy townhouse in the suburbs. In the basement there's a little laundry room that has, up until just recently, served as a multipurpose catch all for almost any household item that doesn't have a proper home. Here's a shot of it on one of its cleaner, more organized days.

Many times we ignore that little voice and tap out a little thank you text or a thank you email, instead. But in an era when we get far too many electronic messages and far too little enjoyable mail, let’s consider the idea that physical, tangible thank you notes deserve a comeback.

When he told me about his illness a few weeks ago I was stunned, and struggled unsuccessfully to hold back the tears. I'm struggling to hold them back now as I write this, but I know he wouldn’t want any of that sadness. In his last email to me he insisted upon talking about something else, even though he evidently didn’t really have the energy to talk at all.